“Your son is not the only one of royal blood. You are Princess Sarina de Valmont.”

Sarah’s legs felt like jelly. “Every adopted child wonders if she’s really a princess…. Does that make us cousins?”

Josquin shook his head. “Are you disappointed that we’re not related?” he asked.

She would have been more disappointed if they had been. She wasn’t sure why, because she had no romantic interest in him. “Why should I care either way?” she asked carefully.

A shadow darkened Josquin’s handsome features. “When we met, I sensed a connection between us.”

She wasn’t about to admit that she had felt it, too. “You’ve just said we’re not related by blood.”

“There are other kinds of connections between a man and a woman.”

Dear Reader,

What makes readers love Silhouette Romance? Fans who have sent mail and participated on our www.millsandboon.co.uk community bulletin boards say they enjoy the heart-thumping emotion, the noble strength of the heroines, the truly heroic nature of the men—all in a quick yet satisfying read. I couldn’t have said it better!

This month we have some fantastic series for you. Bestselling author Lindsay McKenna visits use with The Will To Love (SR 1618), the latest in her thrilling cross-line adventure MORGAN’s MERCENARIES: ULTIMATE RESCUE. Jodi O’Donnell treats us with her BRIDGEWATER BACHELORS title, The Rancher’s Promise (SR 1619), about sworn family enemies who fight the dangerous attraction sizzling between them.

You must pick up For the Taking (SR 1620) by Lilian Darcy. In this A TALE OF THE SEA, the last of the lost royal siblings comes home. And if that isn’t dramatic enough, in Valerie Parv’s Crowns and a Cradle (SR 1621), part of THE CARRAMER LEGACY, a struggling single mom discovers she’s a princess!

Finishing off the month are Myrna Mackenzie’s The Billionaire’s Bargain (SR 1622)—the second book in the latest WEDDING AUCTION series—about a most tempting purchase. And The Sheriff’s 6-Year-Old Secret (SR 1623) is Donna Clayton’s tearjerker.

I hope you enjoy this month’s selection. Be sure to drop us a line or visit our Web site to let us know what we’re doing right—and any particular favorite topics you want to revisit. Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Crowns and a Cradle
Valerie Parv

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Mary-Theresa Hussey, whose enthusiasm for Carramer earns her honorary citizenship, with appreciation from the Carramer royal family and their historian.

Books by Valerie Parv

Silhouette Romance

The Leopard Tree #507

The Billionaire’s Baby Chase #1270

Baby Wishes and Bachelor Kisses #1313

*The Monarch’s Son #1459

*The Prince’s Bride-To-Be #1465

*The Princess’s Proposal #1471

Booties and the Beast #1501

Code Name: Prince #1516

†Crowns and a Cradle #1621

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Interrupted Lullaby #1095

Royal Spy #1154

VALERIE PARV

lives and breathes romance, and has even written a guide to being romantic, crediting her cartoonist husband of nearly thirty years as her inspiration. As a former buffalo and crocodile hunter in Australia’s Northern Territory, he’s ready-made hero material, she says.

When not writing about her novels and nonfiction books, or speaking about romance on Australian radio and television, Valerie enjoys dollhouses, being a Star Trek fan and playing with food (in cooking, that is). Valerie agrees with actor Nichelle Nichols, who said, “The difference between fantasy and fact is that fantasy simply hasn’t happened yet.”

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Prince Josquin de Marigny had been careful not to let a look or gesture betray how restless he felt. But his close friend, Peter Dassel, who chaired the Carramer Business Consortium of which Josquin was patron, leaned closer and murmured into his ear, “Now you’ve shown the flag and presented the awards, you’re wondering how soon you can get away, aren’t you?”

The reception for outstanding Carramer business people had already run over its allotted time in the prince’s schedule, thanks to the lengthy acceptance speeches the winners had chosen to give. Now they milled around Château de Valmont’s beautiful East Salon, enjoying coffee, delicious pastries and the opportunity to network with one another. No wonder they weren’t anxious to depart.

Josquin restrained a sigh. “I didn’t mean to let it show.”

Peter shook his head. “It doesn’t except to me, Josh. I’ve known you a long time.”

Since they had attended the same school, Josquin thought. They had met within months of their eighth birthdays. As the son of the Australian ambassador to Carramer, Peter had refused to be intimidated by Josquin’s title or his close relationship to the ruling family of Carramer. Peter had challenged Josquin to a running race to prove that the Australian was the prince’s equal. Not accustomed to being challenged by a commoner, Josquin had accepted. Over a distance twice as long as Peter had originally proposed, they had raced to a hard-fought draw, and afterward had become firm friends. Josquin had been delighted when Peter had taken out Carramer citizenship, and their friendship had grown stronger over the years since then.

Now Peter gave an understanding grin and said in a lowered voice, “I hope she’s beautiful.”

Josquin’s coffee cup stilled in midair and he frowned. “Who?”

“The woman you’re so anxious to get away to meet.”

Josquin lowered the cup and deposited it on the tray of a passing waiter. “How do you know there’s a woman involved?”

“I don’t, but I live in hope. Good grief, Josh, you’re thirty next month. Isn’t it time you settled down?”

“Maybe I like playing the field.”

“And maybe you’re too fussy for your own good.”

“You realize it’s high treason to talk to a member of the royal family this way?”

Peter made an unconvincing attempt to look alarmed. “Somebody has to talk to you this way. Your quest to restore your family’s lands and fortune is commendable. But at the rate you’re going, you’ll be a venerable forty before you let any woman get past your guard, far less anywhere near the altar.”

Josquin nodded pleasantly to one of the award recipients, but was thinking of his self-imposed timetable. Until he had more to offer a woman, he didn’t plan on getting romantically involved with anyone. “Forty isn’t too old for marriage these days.”

“Depends whether you want to have the stamina to keep up with the little princes and princesses when they come along. Personally I prefer having my children while I’m still young enough to enjoy them.”

As godfather to Peter’s three-year-old son and one-year-old daughter, Josquin was inclined to agree. He felt a wintry expression settle on his face. “We can’t all be as lucky as you.”

“Lucky, nothing. The day I set eyes on Alyce, I knew she was the one for me. I mapped out a campaign to win her, and the rest was history.”

“Did she know how calculating you are?”

Peter laughed. “She knew. I found out later that she had the same idea.” His expression sobered. “Jokes aside, Josh, when you finally meet the woman for you, I hope you won’t let pride stand in your way.”

His friend turned to speak to another guest, leaving his words hanging around Josquin like a cloud. It was easy for Peter to talk. His parents hadn’t squandered everything they had as if there was no tomorrow. Fleur, his mother, a former lady-in-waiting at the court of Prince Henry, ruler of Valmont Province, had taken to her role as a princess like a duck to water. Indulged by Josquin’s father, Leon, who could refuse her nothing, Fleur had run up accounts everywhere as if the royal coffers had no limits, until Leon was forced to sell most of the family’s land holdings to pay their way.

But for the patronage of Prince Henry, who had treated Josquin like a son, Josquin would have had a struggle to complete his education. Whenever he thought of the difference the elderly ruler had made to his life, he felt a debt of gratitude. Prince Henry had had no obligation to nurture Josquin. He had a father, however improvident, and Josquin wasn’t related to Henry. But Henry’s own son had died in his twenties, leaving a breach in the ruler’s life that Josquin knew he had helped to fill. It was little enough repayment for all Henry had done for him over the years, helping to compensate for the benign neglect Josquin’s parents had shown their only son.

Josquin hadn’t learned the full extent of their fecklessness until he was twenty-three, when his father suffered a fatal heart attack, leaving almost nothing except the remnants of the family estate on the outskirts of the capital city of Solano. Josquin quickly realized that his mother couldn’t cope on her own, and expected him to manage her life for her.

He had put in years of hard work and careful management before they could breathe easily again. Even now his mother’s lifestyle could hardly be called frugal although she complained about what she called her reduced circumstances. She had no idea what it cost Josquin even to keep her in clothes, far less maintain her household in Solano. Money seemed to flow through her hands like water. She was hardly an ideal advertisement for married life.

All the same, he found his thoughts turning to the woman Peter had accurately guessed Josquin was anxious to meet as soon as his work here was done. He knew the woman well enough to be able to pick her out of a crowd, knew her history, her habits and lifestyle, her tastes in clothing and food, as well as if they had been married for years. Odd to think that he was about to meet her face-to-face for the first time.

Sarah McInnes was the name she was known by in America. Her name conjured in Josquin’s mind the image of a startlingly beautiful woman in her mid-twenties. She had long hair the color of nutmeg, curling softly onto her shoulders, and dark brown eyes that reminded him of the rare and beautiful sun deer running wild in the forests of Carramer.

By now Josquin had seen enough photographs of her to guess that if she stood alongside him, she would come up to his chin in her stocking feet. The reports said she had trained as a dancer in her early teens until she grew too tall to become a ballerina, and had entered the art world as an assistant curator after leaving college. He had little trouble imagining how she would move, with a dancer’s easy grace.

Two years ago, she had moved out of the apartment she had occupied in her parents’ home, and now lived alone. Not quite alone. Josquin frowned as he thought of the baby Sarah had given birth to almost a year ago. There was no sign of the child’s father, and Josquin’s investigators had been unable to identify him. The prince felt himself tense involuntarily as he thought of Sarah managing entirely alone since her child’s birth. He had spent too much of his childhood fending for himself while his parents were wrapped up in their own lives, not to empathize with her struggle.

He was curious as to what had caused the break between herself and her American family. She hadn’t become pregnant until after she left home, ruling out the baby as the cause. According to the reports, Sarah had taken very little with her when she left the McInnes household, and her present lifestyle was far from lavish. Yet Josquin could only admire the life she had made for herself and her child.

Since the investigators had tracked her down a few months ago, Josquin had followed Sarah’s progress avidly. With every new report he became more fascinated by her, and more intrigued at the prospect of finally meeting her. If he hadn’t been determined not to get involved with any woman, his preoccupation with her would have been a real concern.

He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. Where was his equerry who had been instructed to interrupt if the function went on too long? On cue, Gerard appeared at the door, his gaze sweeping the room until he located Josquin. Approaching the prince, the equerry bowed deferentially and announced, “Your Highness, your next appointment is waiting for you.”

Not a moment too soon, Josquin thought. He gave Peter an apologetic look. “If you’ll excuse me, duty calls.”

Peter inclined his head respectfully, but Josquin caught a gleam in his friend’s eye. “Thank you for supporting our work, Your Highness. Appreciated as always,” he said. Under his breath, Peter added, “When you meet your mystery woman, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Josquin resisted reminding his friend how much scope that would give him if he took it literally. Peter had been far from saintly until marriage settled him down. Nor did Josquin bother denying that there was a woman involved. He would only fuel Peter’s suspicion.

He let his equerry clear a path for him through the crowd, nodding and smiling his way to the door and heaving a sigh of relief when it whispered shut behind him. These functions were good for the province’s economy, and as Prince Henry’s principal business adviser, Josquin willingly supported them, but the benefits didn’t stop the social side from boring the pants off him.

Unlike the meeting that lay ahead of him.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he anticipated meeting Sarah in the flesh at last. He knew how beautiful she was, and how she lived, but he wanted to know what she was really like. Would she be as charming in person as she had looked when the photographer had captured her playing with her baby on a blanket in a park near her apartment? She had been unaware of being observed, and the delightfully unselfconscious way she looked was imprinted on Josquin’s memory.

He sobered abruptly as his thoughts strayed beyond the initial meeting. Not for the first time, he wished that Henry hadn’t insisted that Josquin be the one to find her and have her brought to Carramer. After everything the old prince had done for him Josquin could hardly refuse, but he couldn’t make himself feel good about it. He wouldn’t be the only one when Sarah found out what Henry expected of her, Josquin thought, as he waited for his car and driver to take him to their meeting.

Chapter One

Sarah McInnes bounced the grumbling baby on her hip. “Not much longer now, little one.” She nudged her suitcase forward with her foot, frowning at the slow-moving line ahead of her. The Carramer people might be “the world’s most delightful hosts” according to the brochures, but their customs officials had scant regard for a baby’s needs. Christophe was tired after the long flight and she could see him getting ready to give his small lungs a workout.

She was being ungrateful, she knew. She was about to visit one of the most beautiful countries in the world, thanks to a radio station’s computer that had dialed her phone number at random in a competition. Given the odds against winning such a wonderful prize, how could she feel unhappy about anything? She put her mood down to exhaustion. Although the flight attendants had been wonderful, taking turns to distract him, Christophe had fretted most of the way from America. As a result Sarah had slept little herself.

Suddenly her attention was captured by a flurry of activity at the station ahead of her. A handsome man strode up to the officials and spoke quietly to them. Their response, instant and unmistakably deferential, made her wonder who the man was and why everyone jumped to attention when he appeared on the scene.

She had sworn off men, even ones with hair the color of midnight and the build of an athlete straining his designer suit. He would never be able to buy clothes off the rack, she thought, not with those wide shoulders and narrow waist. From where she stood she couldn’t see his legs, but as he had crossed the customs hall, the men with him had struggled to keep up.

The man’s intense gaze swung to the people in her line. Was it her imagination, or did his gaze rest longer on her than on the people around her? There was no reason for her to be singled out. She was only an ordinary tourist visiting the country. A different line catered for people traveling on business visas, so none of the people around her could be tycoons planning to pour millions of dollars into the island kingdom’s economy, especially not Sarah herself.

For someone who had no interest in men other than the adorable one-year-old in her arms, Sarah found herself paying a foolish amount of heed to the way everyone danced attendance on this one man. He stabbed a finger at the computer screen alongside him and began to talk in a lowered voice.

Only another customs official, she concluded. Maybe he was simply one of those men who commanded attention no matter what their position in life.

Since she wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, she amused herself by continuing to study him covertly. She put his age at about thirty, although it was hard to pin down when he moved with such athletic grace. When he finally strode away, she felt something very like disappointment.

She was startled when a uniformed man approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Kindly come this way, madame.”

His tone carried a hint of command, and her stomach lurched. Had she made a mistake when she completed the entry formalities for herself and Christophe? Sarah had never been in trouble of any kind, and had never been to Carramer before. While studying the brochures, she’d felt drawn to the place, but put the feeling down to her lifelong fascination with the South Pacific. So what could be the matter?

She decided she wasn’t giving up her place in line without some explanation. “I’m sure you mean to help,” she said firmly. “But I’m almost at the head of the line and if I lose my place now, it will be hard on my baby. He’s already tired and fractious.”

As if to confirm her assertion, Christophe gave vent to a series of escalating wails that had the soldier wincing in sympathy.

“The child is the reason we wish to expedite your entry,” he said over Christophe’s cries. “Please come with me.”

Since she was the only person in line carrying a baby, the officials must have felt sorry for her. Who was she to argue with anything that speeded this up? Aware of the curious glances of the people remaining in line, she allowed the soldier to pick up her suitcase, and followed him across the customs hall to a pair of wood-paneled doors. He swung one of them open, put her case down inside, and held the door wide so she could enter.

The activity had diverted Christophe, she was relieved to see. His tears had dried to distressed hiccups, and he was looking around curiously. The peace wouldn’t last but she was grateful for the respite.

Before the door closed, she saw the soldier take up a post outside—to keep her in, or others out? Then the heavy door swung completely shut and the sounds of the reception hall melted into silence. All she could hear was the sound of her own fast breathing. Plush carpeting masked the tentative steps she took into the room.

“Please come in and take a seat.”

She hadn’t been imagining things, the intriguing man from the customs hall had paid her special attention. He was doing it now, she saw as she approached the massive antique desk he was seated behind. A leather folder lay open in front of him and she was alarmed to see that her photo lay on top of a thick sheaf of papers. Not her passport photo, either. This one showed her with Christophe in the park opposite their apartment. What was it doing here, and how did this intriguing stranger come to have it in his possession?

She perched on the edge of a leather sofa in front of the desk, settling Christophe on her knee where he began to play with the amber beads around her neck. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

“First I need to confirm a few details. May I see your passport, please? The baby’s, too.”

She handed them to him. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I assure you. This will only take a moment.”

In spite of his assurance, her apprehension grew as he studied the documents. She told herself that his manner was pleasant enough. Surely if there was a problem, he wouldn’t keep glancing from the passports to her, as if she intrigued him for some reason.

Her peace of mind wasn’t eased by the awareness that he was more startlingly good looking up close than he had seemed from a distance. His eyes were the gold-flecked blue of a stormy sea, and his skin was lightly tanned, emphasizing her first impression of him as the athletic type. It wasn’t hard to imagine him on the bridge of a yacht, fighting the helm for mastery of the waves. His commanding presence suggested he would win.

Since she was studying him she could hardly feel insulted at finding herself on the receiving end of an equally thorough inspection. If she didn’t feel so uncertain as to why he had singled her out, she would have been flattered.

“Your full name is Sarah Maureen McInnes, and your baby is Christophe Charles…McInnes?” he said.

Hearing the slight upward inflection in his voice, she frowned. “I’m a single mother, if that’s what you mean,” she said.

“I’m merely checking facts. No judgment is implied,” he said.

She immediately regretted reacting so defensively. Just because other people had drawn unflattering if inaccurate conclusions about why she was single with a baby, didn’t mean everyone was the same. “I’m tired. Christophe is tired. We’ve had a long flight,” she said by way of mitigation. “I’d like to know what’s going on, Mr.—” she read the brass nameplate at the front of the desk “—Mr. Sancerre.”

The corners of the man’s mouth twitched. “Forgive me for not introducing myself right away. My name is Josquin de Marigny. The airport director, Leon Sancerre, kindly permitted me the use of his office for this meeting.”

Iced water skittered along her spine, as she recalled a fragment of information from the tourist brochures. “De Marigny? Isn’t that…aren’t they…”

“The royal house of Carramer,” he supplied.

She was glad she was already seated. Her knees felt as if they would buckle if she tried to stand. No wonder everyone had deferred to him. What on earth was going on here? “Are you the king?” she asked in a strangled voice.

He shook his head. “By tradition, Carramer has no king. Our present ruler is Prince Lorne de Marigny, my cousin,” he added before she could frame the question. “I serve as an adviser to Prince Henry de Valmont, ruler of Valmont Province. According to these documents, Valmont is your destination.”

She was too busy dealing with her confusion, to absorb the details. “Look, Mr….that is, Your Highness, I won this vacation in a contest, and the destination was Valmont Province. I had no say in it, although from all accounts it’s one of the most beautiful parts of Carramer. But I’d still like to know what you want with me.”

“Ah yes, the contest. Did it not occur to you to wonder how you came to be so fortunate?”

“When you haven’t had a vacation in two years, and a radio station calls to say a computer has awarded you a trip to a fairy-tale South Pacific kingdom, and all the documentation arrives in your mailbox as promised, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

She felt her heart sink as the obvious thought occurred to her. “Are you trying to say I didn’t win a contest? Was it some kind of hoax? Is that why you had me removed from the line?”

He shook his head. “You’re right, there was no contest. I arranged for the call to be made as a way to bring you to Carramer.”

Clutching Christophe tightly to her, she struggled upright, so disappointed that she hadn’t won a trip after all that she didn’t care whom she offended. Prince or not, he had no right to play with her life. “I don’t know what’s going and I don’t care anymore, but I’m calling the police. I’m sure this is against some law or other even in Carramer.”

With all the grace and speed of a leopard, the prince moved to her side, urging her to sit down again. This time, he took a seat beside her, keeping his hand on her arm. “Hear me out first, then you may do whatever you feel you must, although the American police won’t be much help now you’re on Carramer soil.”

“Am I a prisoner here?”

“The opposite in fact. You belong here as much as I do.”

She felt the floor drop away beneath her feet and was glad of his touch to anchor her in reality. She had dreamed of this moment for nearly two years, yet suddenly she felt afraid. “Do you know who I am?”

He paused long enough for her heart to begin a frantic tattoo. “I believe so.”

She could hardly breathe for the tension coiling through her. She tightened her hold on Christophe. “Tell me,” she implored in a voice barely above a whisper.

The prince’s firm grip on her other arm sent a silent message of support. “My searches suggest that you are a citizen of Carramer.”

“You mean I was born here?”

“No, you were born in America.”

“Then how can I…”

“There are a few minor details to be confirmed, but I’m already sure I have the right woman.”

“The right woman for what?” She may not be who she had grown up thinking she was, the child of James McInnes, the well-known Californian property developer, and his artist wife, Rose, but she didn’t think she was from anywhere like Carramer, either.

“You do know you were adopted soon after your birth?” the prince prompted.

Her voice came out as a strangled whisper. “I found out when I had a blood test for a persistent virus two years ago. The hospital said I couldn’t possibly be my father’s child. At first I thought my mother might have had an affair, but then I discovered that I didn’t belong to her, either.”

“Surely a birth certificate was required when you obtained your passport?”

“That was an excellent forgery, too, although I didn’t know it.” She had obtained her passport for a vacation in Europe to celebrate her graduation. She hadn’t known the truth about herself then, and had never doubted that her documents were authentic. Her adoptive parents’ wealth had its uses, she had concluded. If it could buy them a child, obtaining false documentation for her was a minor detail.

“You were never told the circumstances of your birth?”

She shook her head. “They didn’t want me to know I was adopted. When I found out, and wanted to look for my birth parents, James refused to help me. He said I would have to choose between them and him.” Her voice cracked. “He reminded me of all they had done for me, and told me I should let the past lie. Do you know what that past might be?”

The prince nodded. “What I have to tell you may take some time, and I would prefer a more appropriate setting.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“It would be better if you weren’t glancing at your watch every few minutes.”

She had been unaware she was doing it. “Christophe needs to be fed and changed and put down for a nap,” she said. Not to mention that she needed rest herself. His suggestion that he could tell her about her background had temporarily banished her own tiredness, but it would catch up with her later, she knew.

“Then I will escort you to your accommodation,” he said as indecision gripped her. “We can continue our discussion after you attend to your child.”

She thought of the contrast between his life as a prince, and hers as a single mother. “I hope you’re prepared for a culture shock,” she said shakily.

He looked amused. “Prince Lorne has two young children, as does his brother Michel and their sister, Princess Adrienne. I’ve had ample practice at taking care of my cousins’ babies.”

“Don’t princes have servants to take care of the less pleasant chores?”

He hesitated before saying, “Some do.”

But not him, she heard the implication. Why not? Was he a modern royal who preferred to do things himself? Given his personal intervention in her affairs, it seemed so. She curbed her impatience. “Why can’t you just tell me what you know?”

“There is every chance that you will refuse to believe me. I need time to convince you to trust me.”

Oddly enough she was inclined to do so already, she realized, wondering at the same time why she did. It wasn’t because he was a prince. She’d read enough about royalty to know they suffered from the same human weaknesses as everyone else. Something about Prince Josquin himself inspired her trust.

As he used the phone to summon a car for them, she watched him in fascination. He was obviously accustomed to being in a position of power. She saw it in the relaxed way he gave orders, as if he expected them to be obeyed. Without question.

Her gaze was riveted by the way he rested a muscular thigh on the edge of the desk, letting one leg swing free. He looked like a man who was comfortable with his position in life, she thought. Since she had no idea what her position in life was, having had all her assumptions turned on their heads by the discovery that she was adopted, she couldn’t help envying the prince his air of self-assurance.

His eyes were half closed, veiling their unusual color under a sweep of lashes that matched the blue-black of his hair. His lean, aristocratic features had probably taken generations of breeding to achieve such a prepossessing result. Her heart picked up speed again. What kind of breeding had produced her?

The prince knew the answer but she sensed he wouldn’t tell her until he judged the time was right. She saw intrigue in the gaze he turned on her as he dealt with the call. Intrigue and something far more disquieting, a fire she had last seen in a man’s eyes the night Christophe had been conceived. Recalling the life-changing impact of that experience, she felt her internal temperature soar. She fussed with Christophe’s clothes, not wanting Josquin to see how badly his gaze had unsettled her.

He barely knew her. Then she thought of the thick file in the prince’s possession. He must know a lot more about her than she did about him. More than she knew about herself, come to that.

Her first clear memory was of her third birthday party at the McInnes home in Southern California. Brendan, the boy next door, had taken her red balloon and burst it in her face when she asked for it back. She was wary of balloons to this day. She had been an above-average student and model daughter, bowing to her father’s wish that she attend a local college so she could continue to live at home.

She was twenty-seven and a Libran, celebrating her birthday on September 29, as far as she knew. Now she wondered if she could trust anything she had been told about herself all her life.

She still felt like the same person inside. Still the same stubborn, opinionated, deliver-on-your-promises woman she’d always been. Three-year-old Brendan had found out to his cost when she threatened to punch his nose if he didn’t return her balloon. He had burst it so she had punched his nose. She had spent time standing in the corner afterward, but the pattern had been set. She still did what she said she would do, no matter what it cost her.

A shiver took her. She felt more adrift now than when she had learned of her adoption. The prince had no right to make her wait for information that concerned her so intimately. But as a grown woman, she could hardly threaten to punch him in the nose, so she schooled herself to patience. She had a feeling he wasn’t a man she could hurry into anything.

“How did you know I was arriving today?” she asked as Josquin opened the door to escort her to the car. Stupid question, she thought. He had obviously arranged everything. She was still shaken to discover that the vacation she thought she’d won was nothing more than a hoax, but she wasn’t as furious with him as she thought she should be.

“I was waiting for you,” he confirmed. At his slight gesture, a porter sprang to their side. At the prince’s quiet instruction, the man retrieved her suitcase and carried it away. She watched him go with some trepidation, realizing that she had placed herself and her child entirely in the prince’s hands.

Christophe had dozed off at last, not waking as they left the airport building. He slept with his head on her shoulder, one thumb anchored in his mouth and the other clutching a fistful of her shirt. With any luck he wouldn’t stir until they reached their hotel, if that’s where the prince was taking her.

“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me here. I must be somebody important,” she said, striving for lightness and failing. “Why did you have to lure me to Carramer to speak to me?”

“Because we are running out of time.”

“You know you’re driving me crazy?”

His stern mouth softened into a slight curve. “I can’t say I mind having that effect on such a beautiful woman.”

She resisted the urge to feel complimented. “I’ll bet you say that to lots of women.”

“Would it surprise you if I deny it?”

She nodded. “I’d have trouble believing it.”

“I shall take that as a compliment. Here’s our car.”

She stopped in her tracks, astonished to find a chauffeur opening the door of a black stretch limousine for her. What she took to be the royal standard fluttered from the hood. This would raise a few eyebrows if it were to pull up outside her apartment block in North Hollywood, she thought.

She had been the recipient of enough barbed comments when her neighbors discovered she was a single mother with a baby and no sign of a father. It was a pity they wouldn’t get the chance to see this. She smiled.

The prince looked at her curiously. “What do you find so amusing?”

“I was picturing the reaction back home if I rolled up in this. You’re used to it, I suppose.”

His gaze lingered on her face. “Not so used to it that I can’t enjoy it through your eyes.”

She made herself comfortable on leather upholstery that felt like riding on a cloud. One seat held a baby capsule with a pristine lambswool lining. Without waking him, she secured Christophe in the seat, unnerved at this evidence of how thoroughly the prince had prepared for their arrival.

The compartment was fitted with a television screen and a well-stocked bar. As the car glided out of the airport, the prince deftly opened a bottle of French champagne, and poured the golden liquid into flutes. He handed one to her. “To your safe arrival.”

She drank to quiet her screaming nerves, feeling anything but safe. It dawned on her that she had allowed herself to be talked into riding in a car with a complete stranger, just the situation her parents—that Rose and James, she amended mentally—had warned her against when she was growing up.

They had wanted her to be perfect. Perfection had always been paramount to James McInnes, whether in his business or his private life. If he could have adopted a boy so easily, he probably would have done so. As it was, Sarah felt sure he hadn’t told her she was adopted so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge what he saw as a shortcoming. He had probably regarded her wish to search for her birth parents as a criticism of himself as a father. He refused to accept that this wasn’t about him or Rose, but about Sarah and her needs. Rose McInnes had been more understanding, but as always, followed her husband’s lead.

Getting pregnant hadn’t been Sarah’s intention, but she had felt so cut adrift by their lack of support, that she had turned to her childhood friend, Jon Harrington, for comfort. Neither of them had counted on compassion turning into passion and then into something beyond their control, but it had.

What a combination. She hadn’t been sure which of them had been the least experienced, little Miss Perfect or Jon, the would-be priest. Inexperience hadn’t stopped them from creating a child between them. Her breath caught as she looked at the baby sleeping, lulled by the limousine’s smooth motion. Christophe was the most precious thing in her life, the only person to whom she truly belonged. She regretted her lack of self-control with Jon, but she could never bring herself to regret the child they had created.

Jon never knew he had fathered a child and he never would, if she had anything to do with it. If he knew, he would insist on taking responsibility, even marrying her if she wanted him to. But he had dreamed of becoming a priest for as long as she could recall, and she was determined not to take his dream away from him. She felt badly enough having her own life in ruins thanks to James McInnes. She wasn’t about to ruin Jon’s life as well.

Soon after she discovered she was pregnant, Jon had entered the seminary, and their contact had been limited to letters every few weeks. In his last letter, he’d told her he was being sent to his order’s mission in South America. She missed his friendship, but the loss was a small price to pay to let him hold on to his dream. When Christophe was old enough, she would tell him about his father, making sure her son understood what a special man Jon was.

She had found herself an apartment, supporting herself through her pregnancy and afterward with money from a trust fund left to her by her maternal grandmother. She and her grandmother had loved one another dearly, and she was glad her grandmother had died without knowing that they weren’t related by blood after all. Sarah hadn’t been in touch with her adoptive parents since she left, and she wondered with some bitterness, if they preferred it that way.

She took a sip of the champagne, feeling the bubbles tease her throat. She felt foolish worrying about what Rose and James would think of her behavior now, when she hadn’t told them about her pregnancy. In any case, the man at her side wasn’t a complete stranger. The soldier at the customs hall had called him Your Highness, and she’d bet that this car wasn’t made available to just anyone. “It occurs to me that I should have asked to see some identification,” she said.

The prince’s deeply carved features relaxed into a look of amusement. “Perhaps my driver’s license will do?”

“I didn’t know princes had them.”

He sighed, suggesting that he had had this conversation more than once before. “We put our pants on one leg at a time just like everybody else.”

Don’t even go there, she warned herself, as images of the prince getting dressed in the morning sprang to her mind. He was a means to an end, finding out who she was. Once he told her what he knew about her background, their paths might never cross again.

Strange how disappointing the notion felt, although she told herself it was to be expected. He was a member of the Carramer royal family, for goodness’ sake. Once he had fulfilled whatever duty he had toward her, he wouldn’t involve himself with the personal concerns of an ordinary citizen, assuming she was one. She couldn’t suppress a feeling of anticipation at the prospect. For nearly two years after finding out that she was adopted, she had wondered where she fitted in. She had never considered that she might belong somewhere other than in America.

“Why are you taking such an interest in me?” she asked, giving voice to the thought she had suppressed since he singled her out for attention. “I’m not some royal love child, am I?”

“Are you always so persistent?” he asked, an edge in his voice.

Her throat dried. She had asked out of a perverse wish to provoke him, not because she thought that it could be true. Now she felt the ground shift under her again. What was so terrible about her background that he evaded her questions?

She twisted sideways, fixing him with her most imperious glare. He might be royal but she had been brought up as the daughter of wealthy parents. She wasn’t intimidated by him, and it was time he knew it. “I insist that you tell me what you know about my background.”

He seemed unmoved by her anger. “You’ll have your answers very soon. We have arrived at your accommodation.”

The car swung past a sentry box, a uniformed guard saluting as they drove between black wrought iron gates bearing enameled crests. The car continued along an avenue of ancient trees, through which she glimpsed palatial houses, suggesting that they had entered an exclusive enclave.

Before she could ask Prince Josquin, the car came to a halt beneath a sandstone portico. The building behind it was enormous, at least four stories high and spreading out in two wings for the length of a city block. By craning her neck she could make out a blue and jade flag fluttering from a mast atop a crenellated tower. Suspicion gripped her. “This doesn’t look like a hotel. It looks more like…”

“Château de Valmont,” the prince cut in smoothly. “Welcome home.”

Chapter Two

She stared at him, feeling her jaw drop. “Home? You can’t be serious?”

“Do I look as if I am joking?”

He looked…he looked amazing, she thought, aware that his bombshell didn’t stop her from thinking about him in those terms. She had a feeling His Highness could dominate any woman’s thoughts without really trying.

But she couldn’t accept his suggestion that she had any claim to this astonishing place. Whoever her birth parents were, if they had belonged here, they wouldn’t have borne a child in America and given her up for adoption. The château and the vast estate around it looked as if they had sheltered generations of one family. Such tradition wasn’t easily set aside.

Before she could voice the questions crowding her mind, the car door was opened by a uniformed servant who bowed to her. “May I assist you with the infant, madame?”

Until she knew more about why she was here, she wasn’t trusting her son to anyone’s care but her own. “Thank you, I’ll take him myself.”

“As you wish, madame. I will have someone attend to your bags.”

While the servants bustled about, she lifted Christophe out of the capsule. He stirred and gave her a heart-stopping smile, showing off his solitary front tooth. “You had a good rest, didn’t you?” she said, smiling back at him. Not for Christophe, the worry about what this was all about. As long as he was warm, dry and fed, and she was within his line of sight, he was content.

As she held him against her cheek, he gurgled happily and thrust his fingers into her mouth. She kissed them, feeling almost overwhelmed by love for him. As long as they had each other, everything would be all right, she told herself, as she had so often since he was born.

She became aware of Prince Josquin’s thoughtful gaze on her. She turned to him. “Christophe still needs feeding and changing.”

“Everything you and the baby might need has been anticipated,” he assured her.

“By whom? For what purpose?” She sighed impatiently. “I know, you’ll give me the answers soon.”

Josquin took her free arm, his gesture indicating the hovering servants. “There’s no need to make a scene. No harm will come to you or your child.”

She jerked her arm free. “You think this is a scene? Wait until you see what a real scene looks like.” She tightened her hold on Christophe and faced the prince, tigress with cub bracing herself to take on full-grown male tiger. Her stance made it clear that, at need, she would take on the world to protect her child. “We’re not going any further until you give me a good reason why we should.”

A scowl marred his even features, suggesting that no wasn’t a word he was accustomed to hearing. After a thoughtful pause, he said, “Because your son is the heir to everything you see around you.”

She felt the color drain from her face. “He’s what?”

“He is Prince Henry’s sole male heir.”

“If it’s true, it would make my baby…he would be…” She couldn’t bring herself to force the word out.

Josquin did it for her. “He is Prince Christophe de Valmont.”

Josquin saw the moment when her knees threatened to buckle. His strong arm came around her, supporting her and Christophe. She shook her head slightly to dispel the mist tugging at the edge of her thoughts. “There must be some mistake. We’re American citizens. How can my son be the heir to anything in Carramer, far less a prince?”

“I understand this is a lot to take in. That’s why I wanted to break it to you in a more appropriate fashion.”

“Would any way make a difference when you have such news? Are you sure?”

Josquin inclined his head. “Too much is at stake for my inquiries to have been anything but meticulous.”

They would have been anyway, she assumed. Josquin didn’t strike her as a man who did anything by halves. She was far from convinced that the château was her son’s birthright, but for his sake, she had to find out. “We’ll come inside, for now at least,” she said, keeping a tremor out of her voice with an effort.

The prince looked relieved. He indicated a pretty dark-haired woman of about Sarah’s age, who had come to stand beside them. “This is Marie. She will serve as your personal attendant while you’re here.”

Which wouldn’t be very long if Sarah had any say in it, she thought as she greeted Marie. The longer she stood in the shadow of the breathtaking château, the more she believed that Josquin must be mistaken. The prince’s research might have been thorough, but he would have to depend on advisers and investigators. Their information could have been wrong. It would be sorted out soon, then she and Christophe could go home.

There was no holiday. Belatedly she realized that the check she had received as spending money was as much a sham as the prize she had supposedly won. She would have to return the money to Josquin, although she had no idea how she was going to manage it.

“What if this turns out to be a mistake?” she asked.

He made a gracious gesture. “Then I will be the one who made it. You are welcome to remain at Valmont as a guest of the royal family for as long as you choose. It is the least I can do to make amends, if a mistake has been made.” His tone said he doubted it.

Relief swept through her. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she had counted on this vacation to give her the chance to regroup. Although it had been her choice and she wouldn’t change it for anything, bearing Christophe alone hadn’t been easy. Her grandmother’s legacy wouldn’t last much longer. Soon she would have to return to work.

Her former job as assistant manager of an art gallery had been kept open while she was on maternity leave. With a baby to consider, she couldn’t work the long, sometimes unpredictable hours she’d done previously, so she had been forced to hand in her resignation. She had intended to use her vacation time to plan her future.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone betraying her relief.

The prince inclined his head. “You’re welcome. Shall we go in now?”

A butler held one of the carved double doors open for her and gestured deferentially for Sarah to precede him.

Sarah found herself standing on a floor made of Italian travertine inlaid with granite. A coffered ceiling stretched twenty or more feet above her head. At one end of the cavernous hall was a wide, curving staircase.

Sarah had been surrounded by beautiful possessions all her life, but had seen nothing like Château de Valmont. “This is amazing.”

“This is one of the finest houses in Carramer.”

“I can believe it. Now I’m convinced you have the wrong person.” Her son couldn’t possibly be the heir to all this.

“Then I shall have to convince you otherwise.”

“If it means living in such a magnificent place, I don’t mind you trying.”

At the excitement in her voice, he smiled. “The château stands at the center of a very large estate which is home to several members of the royal family. Substantial as the estate is, there are other royal homes that are even more impressive, such as the palace at the capital, Solano, home of the monarch, Prince Lorne.”

“I can’t believe it could be grander than this. Do you live here?”

“When my work requires it.” He gestured for her to accompany him up the grand staircase.

The heavily carpeted treads made her feel uncertain—or was it the presence of the enigmatic man at her side? Either way, she was glad of the ornate balustrade to steady herself. Soon she would discover who she really was, and how her baby came to be a prince of Carramer, if that’s who he really was.

Marie must have taken a route reserved for the servants, because she was already fussing over Sarah’s suitcase when Josquin opened the door onto a lavish suite of rooms. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” he said.

Sarah had never seen anything like the suite spread out before her. Two bedrooms opened off a circular sitting area. Beyond it was a covered patio with a panoramic view all the way to the sea. The sun sparkled off an expanse of white sand that begged to be explored. Sarah hugged Christophe, making a silent promise to show him the beach. She couldn’t wait to build his very first sand castle.

Marie carried some of Sarah’s clothes into what turned out to be a walk-in closet, also with an ocean view.

“Comfortable? We may move in here for good,” she said.

Josquin’s mouth twitched. “Be careful what you wish for, Sarina.”

She eyed him curiously. “What did you call me?”

“A local variation of your name,” he said easily. “Does it trouble you?”

“I suppose not.” More troubling was her feeling that his use of the name hadn’t been entirely fortuitous. She wished he would tell her what he knew of her background and get this over with, but she sensed that Prince Josquin would do things in his own way and time.

She turned to the maid. “Marie, which is the baby’s room?”

“It’s all right, Marie. I’ll take care of this.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy, and Josquin opened a connecting door onto a spacious bedroom equipped with everything a baby could possibly need. Sarah settled Christophe onto a changing table beside an exquisitely decorated antique crib. Above it was a mobile of horses. She set them twirling. This was a far cry from the tiny bedroom she had turned into a nursery in her apartment back home, and she found herself wishing that her friends from the art gallery were here to see this.

Josquin angled his lithe body against the door frame and watched. Christophe reached for the mobile, kicking his legs in delight. “Horee, horee,” he chortled.

“They sure are, sweetheart,” she said, dodging flying feet as she set about changing him. “What a clever boy you are.” So far his vocabulary had been restricted to bowie, his word for the bottle he had recently started to use, and her favorite word, Mama.

She buried her face against his tummy, blowing a raspberry against his velvet skin. “I love every one of your words, don’t I? One day we’ll have long talks and you’ll tell me I don’t know anything because I’m only your mother, so I’d better enjoy horee while I can.”

Josquin looked intrigued. “He’s already starting to speak?”

She looked up. “First words at one, sentences at two.”

“So my cousins tell me.”

“You don’t have children of your own?”

“I’m not married.”

She wasn’t sure why, but the information lifted her spirits. “As a de Marigny, don’t you have to take care of the succession or something?”

“Prince Lorne and Prince Michel both have sons, so the succession isn’t something I need worry about.”

She felt her eyebrows lift. “No daughters?”

“Women do succeed to the throne under some circumstances, but it is more usual in Carramer for titles to pass down through the male line.”

She looked at Christophe. “Like the Valmont one?” He nodded, and she added, “How can you be sure you have the right child?”

Josquin shifted slightly. “You took a DNA test once.”

“That’s right. It’s how I discovered I was adopted.” A horrible thought occurred to her. “You gained access to my medical records? How could you?”

“It was necessary.”

“You had no right.”

“I had a duty,” the prince cut across her. “I may not approve of the investigator’s methods, but I needed answers quickly.”

She lifted Christophe off the table and sat down with him on a rocker placed beside the crib. The baby pawed at her breast but she hesitated. She had fed him discreetly in public before without feeling self-conscious about it, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it in front of Prince Josquin.

He solved the problem by pacing to the window and looking out, keeping his back to her. She unbuttoned her blouse and Christophe began to feed eagerly. She felt the tug as an emotional pull deep inside her. But the contentment that usually accompanied it eluded her today.

She kept her voice low as she said, “You mentioned a time problem before. What did you mean?”

The prince kept his back to her. “Prince Henry has a serious heart condition with an unpredictable prognosis. He wishes to see his heir securely settled in Carramer in case the worst should happen.”

Settled. How long had it been since she’d felt settled anywhere? She shifted Christophe to her other side. “I’m sorry about Prince Henry’s ill health,” she said, “But your plan has a rather permanent sound to it. What if I decide not to stay?”

“Then you are free to leave.”

She heard the tension in the prince’s voice and wondered what he wasn’t telling her. “You still haven’t told me what you know about my parents,” she said.

He swung back and froze, apparently riveted by the sight of her feeding Christophe. His voice sounded husky as he said, “Your father was Henry’s only son, Philippe de Valmont.”

She heard only one word. “Was?”

“He died in a waterskiing mishap soon after you were born. He never knew he had a daughter.”

“And my mother?”

“Her name is Juliet Coghlan.”

Sarah drew a sharp breath. “My father’s secretary?” Sarah had known the woman through her childhood, without suspecting that they could be mother and daughter. Suddenly she understood why Juliet had been so affectionate toward her, giving her small gifts and treats, and making time for her, no matter how busy she had been.

Sarah remembered visiting her father’s office to find him and his secretary in the midst of a blazing argument. Uncharacteristic tears had streamed down Juliet’s face as she stormed out of the inner office. She had come up short at the sight of the distressed seven-year-old, but had refused to tell her what was wrong. Now Sarah wondered if she had been the focus of the disagreement.

Juliet had left the next day. There had been no calls or letters since, and James McInnes had told Sarah he didn’t know where his former secretary had gone.

“Prince Philippe met Juliet when she was holidaying in Carramer. They fell in love and sought Prince Henry’s permission to marry,” Josquin said.

Christophe had drifted off to sleep and didn’t stir when Sarah tucked him into one arm. Feeling unusually self-conscious, she adjusted her clothing with the other. “I gather Prince Henry refused to give them his blessing.”

“He wanted his son to marry a Carramer woman of his choosing.”

“What happened?”

“Philippe told his father that he intended to renounce his title and follow Juliet to America. The love affair continued until she discovered what he meant to do. Evidently she didn’t want him giving up everything on her account, so she pretended that the affair was over. She expected Philippe to return to Carramer and resume his royal duties.”

This was her father, her real father. A man who had so loved her mother that he had been willing to give up everything for her. “Did he come back to Carramer?”

“For a time. He and Henry were barely on speaking terms, but Philippe did his duty to the letter, although everyone who knew him could see that his heart belonged elsewhere.”

“How did you know he’d fathered a child, if he didn’t?”

The prince reached into his pocket and withdrew a slim leather wallet. From it, he extracted a photograph that he handed to her. “Through this.”

The air fled from her lungs as she looked at the photograph. “It’s a picture of me.” A similar one had stood atop the piano of her adoptive home for as long as she could remember.

“Read what’s written on the back.”

Sarah turned the picture over. The handwriting was Juliet’s. “‘My darling, I thought I could do this alone, but I need you. Our daughter needs you. Tell me what I should do.’” It was signed, “‘Jay.’”

Sarah looked up at Josquin, feeling tears stain her cheeks. How could her real father have turned his back on such an appeal? “I thought you said Philippe didn’t know about me.”

Josquin took the photograph from her and returned it to his wallet. “He didn’t. The photograph was delivered to his office an hour after he left to go waterskiing with friends. After returning from America, he was frequently preoccupied, and that day his mind wasn’t on what he was doing. Another vessel ran him down. Philippe died on the way to the hospital. He never saw the photograph.”

“Surely someone contacted Juliet to tell her what had happened?”

“Philippe’s staff didn’t know who Jay was, and Prince Henry was unapproachable for months after the accident. I think he blamed himself for Philippe’s state of mind.”

“He was to blame,” she said hotly. “If he hadn’t hounded the lovers, they’d have married and lived happily together.” With her, she thought. Henry was responsible for destroying three lives including hers.

“Try not to think too harshly of your grandfather,” Josquin urged. “He’s from the old school, and believed he was doing what was best for the province.”

“Don’t call that horrible man my grandfather. From the sound of him, Christophe and I are better off not having anything to do with him.”

Josquin gave a tight smile. “From what I’ve heard about him, you sound a lot like Philippe.”

“I should probably take that as a compliment.”

She stood up and lifted Christophe against her shoulder. He gave a most unregal burp, then settled back to sleep again. He didn’t waken when she placed him in the beautiful antique crib and tucked a soft blanket around him. Her heart swelled with love as she looked down at him. She couldn’t imagine treating her son as heartlessly as Henry had treated Philippe.

“You still haven’t explained how I came to be adopted,” she said, turning back to Josquin.

“As far as we know, it was arranged privately through Juliet’s association with your father.”

Sarah couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Illegally, you mean?”

“Probably. There is no official record of the adoption. We assume that when she didn’t hear from Philippe, Juliet decided that he didn’t want to acknowledge their child. She already had an invalid mother depending on her and couldn’t cope with more. Your father and mother wanted a baby but they were unable to have children of their own. When James McInnes found out what a struggle Juliet was having, he persuaded her that it would be kinder to you if she let him adopt you. As his employee, she was able to see you on an almost weekly basis.”

Sarah thought about the argument between Juliet and her father. “All would have been well as long as my mother hadn’t insisted that I be told who I was. She had a blazing row with my adoptive father. I’d say that was the reason. She left soon afterward. When I asked where she’d gone, I was told nobody knew.”

“We were not able to establish her whereabouts, either,” Josquin said. “I’m sorry.”

Bleakness gripped Sarah as she faced the possibility that her mother might have died. Now she would never know that Philippe hadn’t abandoned her, or Sarah herself. Her only consolation came from knowing that her real mother had tried to do her best for her daughter.

“You do realize what this means?” Josquin said. “Your son is not the only one of royal blood. You are in fact, Her Royal Highness, Princess Sarina de Valmont.”

Her knees jellied. “Every adopted child wonders if she’s really a princess.” Before he could respond, she added, “Does that make us cousins?”

He shook his head. “I’m from the de Marigny line.”

“Then how can Prince Henry of Valmont be your uncle?”

“It’s a courtesy title. He took over my education in my midteens when my parents proved less than adept at it.”

She didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice, and sensed that there was more to his admission, but he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.

“Are you disappointed that we’re not related?” he asked.

She would have been more disappointed if they had been. She wasn’t sure why, because she had no romantic interest in him. If anything, she should despise him because of his loyalty to Prince Henry, the man who had destroyed her real family. “Why should I care either way?” she asked carefully.

A shadow darkened Josquin’s handsome features. “When we met, I sensed a connection between us.”

She wasn’t about to admit that she had felt it, too. “You’ve just said we’re not related by blood.”

“There are other kinds of connection between a man and a woman.”

She threaded her fingers through the bars of Christophe’s crib as an anchor. “I’m not looking for a connection, as you put it. I want to take my child and go home.”

“You would deny your son his birthright because yours was denied to you?”

“I’m not doing any such thing.” At least she hoped that wasn’t her motivation. She made a sweeping gesture around the lavishly furnished suite. “None of this has anything to do with us. I’m half-American, remember? If what you tell me is true, Christophe has less Carramer blood in his veins than I do.”

“Are you running away from his heritage, or from me?”

The prince’s question stopped her in her tracks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His dark gaze caught and held her. “Don’t you? You deny feeling any connection between us, but it is there. I think you’re afraid if you acknowledge it, you’ll lose your head the way your mother did.”

Sarah could hardly breathe for the emotions swirling through her. “It didn’t work out all that well for her.”

His hand came up and touched the side of her face. “Then consider this your chance to rewrite history.”

She had to fight to resist the urge to turn her face into his hand. “You’re assuming I want to.”

“Oh, you want to.”

How did he know, when she could barely explain her feelings to herself? Was such arrogant assurance a part of his royal heritage? If so, why didn’t she feel as sure of herself? “Are you sure I’m a real princess?” she asked.

He looked mystified. “I guarantee it.”

“Then let me issue my first decree. Take your royal hand off me now.”

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